Paradise Island (30 page)

In the middle of the room was a round, oak table with two chairs set opposite each other. On the table was a bright red tablecloth, detailed with golden moons and stars that danced and glowed in the subtle flickering light. The edges were trimmed with golden discs, alternating with quarter moons. Situated in the center of the tablecloth was a large crystal ball balanced on an intricately designed golden stand. Four eagles claws rose from the stand on which the crystal ball balanced. Tarot cards were neatly stacked to one side of the ball. A well-worn brown leather satchel sat to the other side. Incense burned from a stick, reminding Worthington of the back alleys of Arabia.

The walls of the room were covered by thick, velvet drapes of muted color. When he looked closer at them, he saw they were actually tapestries made from rows and rows of people fighting, ships coursing through thick ocean waves, people eating, stabbing, dancing. Each tapestry seemed to tell a tale in detailed pictorial representation. He was drawn to one in particular. A winged angel was in the process of stabbing a man crumbled over his knee. Red thread ran from the middle of the man's chest to the ground below. It was the agony of the man's face that held Worthington's attention. It was so real he could almost see it happening in front of his eyes. The angel turned its head; its eyes dragged a path directly to his.

Worthington blinked, stepping back in surprise. When he looked again, the angel was as before. Just a thread profile with a curved dagger embedded in a man's chest.

“The Curse of the Angel,” a seductively soft voice floated to him through the incense.

He hadn't heard her enter the room. There was certainly no indication where she'd come from. He did notice a certain shift in the air, as though it buzzed now that she was in the room. Before she was here, the air was flat and heavy with the burning incense. But now, it was alive with energy. He breathed in deeply, soaking the energy. This indeed was the type of woman he'd been looking for. Now to see if she would suit his plans.

“Madam Rose.” He smiled.

She inclined her head, but never took her eyes from his face. They were the eyes of the all-seeing. He felt them pierce his soul, searching, finding and assimilating information. They were of the darkest black, huge orbs that dilated as she immersed herself in his need.

He let her find it. Let her know what he'd come about. Felt her attention recede. Her eyes sharpened as she drew her mind back to the room.

“I cannot help you,” she said. Her voice was heavily accented from her homeland, the outlying country regions of France.

“You don't know why I'm here,” he said.

“I know enough.” She didn't move, simply held her ground. Her black hair fell from thick waves to her breasts. It was held beneath a translucent head scarf tied with a large bow at her nape. It served to make her eyes seem larger, her lips fuller than the crude red color she'd drawn over them.

“Then you will also know you don't have a choice,” Marcus said. “Please sit and I'll tell you in more details what I require from you.” He indicated the chair she stood behind.

She gripped the back of the chair. Her nails were as red as her lips. Both shone in the flickering light. Her white knuckles were the only indication of the way she felt.

“I only have to call and help will come for me,” she said.

“As do I, and may I assure you my men are far more skilled than the backstreet roughnecks picked for you this afternoon. One raise of their swords and your men will turn tail and run for their lives.”

Madam Rose stared at him with shining, unreadable eyes, but he knew the clogs turned at a fast pace behind the stone façade. Moments stretched. “I will read for you and then you will go,” she said.

She took her place at the chair and indicated to the other that he sit, which he did. She placed the stack of Tarot cards between the palms of her hands. Her mouth moved in some sort of prayer or incantation. She pulled a long golden chain from around her neck. At the end of the chain was an amethyst amulet that was hidden between her ample breasts. He noticed a golden claw clutched the end of the stone in the same design as the claws that held the crystal ball.

She held the amulet over the cards, where it started to swing in a tight circle. It slowed and began a circle in the opposite direction. She placed the amulet back between her breasts and shuffled the pack of cards slowly. Her eyes had closed and the incantation was silent on her moving lips.

Her eyes cracked open. She took the first card and placed it on the table. The design was intricate and quite unlike other cards he'd seen. He had no idea what it meant.

“This is Death,” Madam Rose said in a flat voice. She laid her fingertips on the bottom edge of the card.

“Quite possibly,” Worthington murmured.

Her black eyes locked onto his. “It is not death in the way you expect it to be. It does not mean loss of life, but rather the finishing of something to be replaced by something new.”

“What is this new thing?”

She withdrew the next card and laid it on the right hand side of the first card. She concentrated, her eyes narrowed. A frown marred her forehead. “A power. But not of this earth. Supernatural in design. It can cause great destruction.” Her eyes snapped to his, widened. “You seek it.”

“Tell me how I can get it.”

“I can only tell you what the cards want you to hear.”

Worthington sighed dramatically. It always came to this. The extra push that would seal her help. “You have a brother Paris who looks after your aged mother and father. You send home what you can from what you earn here. It is their custom to go to the local pub after church on a Sunday where they leave your brother to talk to his friends who also congregate there for the afternoon, while they shuffle back to their little house by the river on the edge of the village. I'm told it is quite a nice house with a distinct stone fence at the front. And quite away from the rest of the other houses. Anything could happen in that house, and no one would be the wiser.”

Her hands shook, with rage or terror, he didn't know. But he'd got the desired effect. “Now my dear, if you get my drift, you will tell me everything.”

She slowly turned a third card and placed it to the left of the original card. “You need to seek another who can help you locate the key to this power. With great power comes great responsibly.”

“My dear, I know exactly how I will use this power. Tell me who this man is and where I will find him.”

She folded the cards back into the pack and placed them neatly on top of the table cloth. She pulled the crystal ball closer to her, placing the tips of the fingers of both hands on either side of the ball. The crystal clouded with grey mists that swirled and deepened.

Worthington leant closer to the ball, watching the mists, looking for images he might be lucky enough to see. He believed, but he'd not been given the gift of third sight himself.

“There is a man. He wears a uniform, like yours, but with fewer brass medals on his chest. He is in a field filled with smoke and guns. He shouts orders. Stand firm. Charge.” Her eyes drifted to his. Focused. “That is all I see.”

“His name?”

Madam Rose shook her head. “There is no name.”

The muscle at Worthington's temple twitched. He hated when it did that, which it did when he was most unhappy. Like now. He didn't like being most unhappy. He wanted smooth waters. He wanted things to run like silk. And this was not running like silk. He stood, slamming his fist on the table. The stack of cards toppled. Madam Rose jumped. “You will tell me now!” he shouted.

“I cannot!” she whispered.

“I will slaughter your family. Do you understand? All of them. And then if you still can't help me, I'll slaughter your cousins, and their mothers and fathers then I'll start with the people who live in your childhood village starting with the children. I'll see the streets running red, do you hear? You will help me or everything you have and everyone you love will be gone to you. Now tell me his name!”

Madam Rose jerked backwards. Sparks zigzagged from the crystal ball to her fingers, dancing in blue streaks up her arms to her chest. Her eyes rolled backwards until there were only the whites to be seen. Her head tipped back, sending her headscarf floating to the floor and unraveling her long raven locks. The blue streaks danced in her hair. Strands stood on end and became a halo around her head.

“The man you seek is … Major Christopher Sweet.”

Her hands fell from the crystal. She collapsed onto the table top, breathing heavily. The trance had cost her. And shown him what a valuable asset she would be to him. He called in his two guards. If they were surprised at what they saw, they didn't show it.

“Take her and these things on the table. She will need them.”

Madam Rose looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. “You said if I helped you, you would go.”

“I did promise. I am leaving. And you are coming with me.” He stretched his mouth into a smile.

She started to scream, but the butt of the rifle from one of his men had her collapsing across the top of the table.

“Take her. Get those things. We'll leave the back way.”

A quick search behind the tapestries found the door from which she'd silently come through. As they left the room, Worthington felt the weight of eyes on his back. He turned. In the dull flickering light he could have sworn that the face of the angel on the tapestry was turned towards him, the end of the knife pointed straight at him.

He turned, and without a second glance, shut the door, leaving the room warm and quiet and smelling of the sweet incense that reminded him of the streets of Arabia.

A warm starboard breeze plucked at the immense charcoal black mainsail and propelled Jack's ship
The Bloody Blade
around the island mass of Paradise. Estelle shouted orders, the mainsail was dropped and the ship made ready to dock. The ring no longer worked. The power of the god buried beneath the earth. The ships had lost the unearthly speed that the spirit god had provided them.

For such a large ship, it handled well. Not as well as her beloved
Wanderlust
, but well enough to glide through the large swells that had brought them along the rugged cliff line of Paradise.

Both the women from her village and the men sailed Jack's fleet. Now, apart from their dismal coloring, they were a fleet of normal looking enough ships. The men had assured her that once docked, they would scour the black away and bring the wood back to its original gleaming deep golden hues. It would be good for them to do that and the bonus was she had more ships to add to her merchant fleet.

Gums and lush green shrubs lined the rocky walls that rose majestically from the clear blue waters. Birdsong rang from the twisted branches, various breeds of birds fighting for fish and nesting rights in their little pocket of leaves. Although they could not be seen, they could be heard clearly enough. There were flashes of color as butterflies with large papery wings rode the warm currents, flitting from tree to tree in their haphazard patterns.

A blur of grey flashed beneath the sparkling surface of water as a school of dolphins raced their ship. Three rose from the water, their sleek grey skins shining in the sunlight. They were her friends, welcoming her home.

At long last, she was coming home. She had not thought it possible, but it now meant more than it ever had to her. She slid a sidelong glaze to Gregory. The breeze plucked his clothing and ruffled his raven hair. There was a satisfied smile on his mouth as he watched the fertile scenery slide past. He looked to be every inch the pirate that was always carefully guarded beneath the veneer of a navy Captain and she knew that he would call Paradise his home just as passionately as she. As she knew all that returned with her would.

All but the solitary man that was chained in the brig in the bowels of the ship caught by Lilura sneaking away after the spirit god had returned them all to the Earth, Jack as powerless as the day he'd first gone to the spirit god and sold his soul and everyone else's for power and greed. Jack had violently protested at being put in there until Lilura bound him with a gagging spell rendering him speechless. Estelle had felt the sigh of appreciation rippled through all that sailed in this ship.

Although Jack could not speak, she was more than aware of the heated darts he threw in her direction whenever she went to check up on him. He truly believed himself to be wrongly jailed, accusing Marcus Worthington of coercing him into doing the vile deeds he did. Estelle knew only too well that Jack would have done them with or without the help of others. He was in full control of what he did and he was going to stand trial for those actions with the very people on Paradise that he did them to.

Each and every woman would have a say at his trail. They would decide his fate.

And she vowed to do the same for Marcus Worthington.

But first she would enjoy some time with Gregory on Paradise.

Estelle led the ship with a half turn to port, missing a reef she knew lay on the sea floor. The other ships trailed single file behind her following her path, her father commanding the ship directly behind. She knew these waters intimately and without her knowledge they would never make it through without running aground. It was the very thing that had kept her island safe for it was the heart of this maze.

She sailed past a just of land that dwindled to a sharp rocky point and swung the ship in a tight port turn through a gap not much wider than the ship itself. It was her skill as Captain that had the ship slowing and building speed at the precise times that got it through the narrow opening. The gap was only slight but opened up onto a large enough harbor to house a number of ships.

In the center if the harbor was the
Wanderlust
, mast rebuilt, majestically anchored in the blue water. Beyond that, on the slopes of the island, various huts and shelters were neatly housed between a leafy tropical canopy. She saw people running towards the little pier on the paths and down the white sandy beach that fringed the water's edge. Long boats were rowed towards them. She yelled an order to drop anchor.